Hot Flash
by Redfeatherz66
Summary: Of course he would deny being sick. Unfortunately, the stomach flu isn't something you can just deny, and Lisbon gets stuck with the duty of taking care of him, which brings them closer together than ever. Jane WHUMP, eventual Jane/Lisbon
1. Deny, Deny, Deny

**Started out as just a drabble- I didn't actually have any intention on this becoming a real story. It morphed out of my control, and this is what was produces. Note that I don't own The Mentalist. Allons-y!**

Something was coming. He could feel it, deep down in his very bones. Something big, something loud and obstinate… it was almost here. His facial muscles twitched with anticipation-

"Kchhhh!" Patrick Jane sneezed, doing his best to stifle it, covering his nose with a handkerchief. Ah, yes. That was it.

"Do you have some insight, Jane?" Lisbon asked, raising one eyebrow at him. He could practically see the cogs working in her mind, certain that he was plotting something. He wondered if she'd been this paranoid before he'd joined the unit, or if that was his fault.

"Sneezes travel at over 90 miles per hour," he said.

"Great. Thanks. I mean about the case."

"Well you should've said so!" he said, pretending to be affronted. He grinned to let her know he was kidding (she often missed his sarcasm, resulting in many needless rages, which made him worry about her blood pressure). "Look at Riley's bank statements and other money records. The knives in the kitchen look like they had genuine African blackwood handles. No schoolteacher makes enough for those."

"Van Pelt, see what you can find out. Cho, go with Rigsby and follow the leads on the sister- if Riley was pedaling, then she we have to find her before the dealers do," Lisbon ordered, the agents taking their jobs and departing accordingly.

Jane cleared his throat. Lisbon rolled her eyes.

"What now?" she asked him. He blinked innocently up at her from his position on the couch.

"Nothing," he replied, clearing his throat again. She stared at him for a long moment, and he was conscious not to fidget or look uncomfortable under her gaze, putting on the appearance of comfort and disinterestedness as he read his book.

A slow grin came across her face as she stared at him. He glanced at her sideways, finally sighing and putting the book down, sitting up. When he got himself technically upright, he blinked for a moment before managing to focus on her around his head rush.

"Your staring and grinning is making me nervous," he accused mildly, trying to read her eyes and see what on earth she was smirking about. "You look like the cat that got the canary."

"Do one thing for me, and I'll tell you," she teased. He thought about it for a microsecond, then replied without hesitation.

"Fine." His voice was challenging and slightly petulant, like a child.

"Good. I want you to close your eyes and hold absolutely still," she told him, hands on her hips, looking very boss-like indeed. He sighed at her theatrics and did as she said.

A moment later, he jumped slightly at the feel of her cool hand on his forehead. He heard her laugh at his reaction. _Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, Lisbon, _he silently grumbled, grumpy at her triumph, among other things.

"I knew it," she said, victory in her voice. He opened one eye and looked up at her. She removed her hand and adopted that 'ha-ha I win' expression that he so love/hated.

"Great. Uphold your half of the bargain, please," he requested.

"You're _sick_," she teased, still beaming like it was the most wonderful thing in the world.

"You're beaming like it's the most wonderful thing in the world. Why?" he asked.

"Then you don't deny it?"

"Of course I deny it, I thought that was a given. I've told you, I don't get sick," he protested impassively.

"And _that's_ why I'm smiling. Get out of here before your symptoms start to hit hard. If you ask nicely, I'll give you a ride home."

"I'm sorry to tell you, Lisbon, but your mother-woman instincts are wrong. I know I usually say the opposite, but you're off today," he said sadly, shaking his head. "I feel fine." That was a lie, but Lisbon was awful at picking up on it when he lied.

His head felt kind of swimmy, like it was full of water. Or something heavier than water, like olive oil. And his throat was a little gummy, and his sinuses had a mild ache- but all of those could be explained by fatigue or dehydration.

"And I'm saying that you aren't. You don't feel it yet, you're still incubating like a big goose egg, and it's going to hatch and we're going to have a big sick goose Jane walking around spreading his plague," Lisbon reasoned in her slow, insistent voice. She might have a point.

Nah. He made an exaggerated pouty face, sticking his lower lip out and widening his eyes, clasping his hands between his knees. She choked back a laugh, and he could see her loosening up.

"Fine," she said eventually, amused. "But if- when," she corrected, "you get sick, I'm not taking care of you. I'll ship you home with some heartless agent to drive you, and I'll tell you 'I told you so'."

"Heartless agent. You or Cho, then?" he asked. She turned and gave him a stern look, then continued back to her office.

"I'm going to grab my keys, then we're going to talk to Harley," she said, naming a troubled student who was high on their suspect list.

They drove mostly in silence, because Lisbon kept talking to Cho and Van Pelt on her phone about updates, and Jane felt no need to fill the space between calls. His throat really was starting to get a dry, scraped feeling. He didn't want to rasp or sound hoarse and prove Lisbon right. And the car ride wasn't helping his wooziness- he found himself forced to watch the road and focus on keeping himself steady, rather than think over the case and plot like he usually did on car rides. He liked plotting.

"So what are you plotting?" Lisbon asked as they turned up the driveway to Harley's mother's house.

"Plotting? I don't plot," he denied.

"Fine. I don't expect you to tell me, anyways," she said dismissively, though she sneaked glances at his face, trying to see the thoughts beneath his perpetually cheerful mask.

The duo approached the house. It was small and looked very lived-in, but it wasn't dirty or messy, just a little worn. Lisbon knocked on the door, and the woman that answered was even shorter than Lisbon, with glasses and curly brown hair and a small mouth.

"Hello! Can I help you?" the woman asked in a shrill, friendly voice. Lisbon blinked in surprise- she'd expected a junkie mother, not this sweet little woman.

"Are you Shelia Michaud?" Lisbon asked.

"That's me."

"Ma'am, we're with the CBI, and we're investigating a case about one of Harley's teachers, Mr. Jackson Riley," Lisbon said formally, avoiding words like 'murder' and 'suspect' in front of the delicate woman. She showed her badge.

"Oh! Yes, he was one of Harley's teachers. I met him at parent-teacher conferences. What a shame," the woman said, shaking her head.

"What did you think of him?" Jane asked. Ms. Michaud practically melted under his gaze.

"I don't like to speak ill of the dead…" Jane's smile won her over, and she continued, "But he was a bit dodgy, I guess. Quirky, and not in a cute way. Unemotional, detached, only worried about scores and status. He and my poor boy didn't get along."

"We'd like to ask you and Harley some questions, if you don't mind," Lisbon asked.

"No, not at all! In fact, I just a cake, and I was expecting Delilah, my neighbor to come over, but she got called in to work. You can eat with us," Shelia suggested delightedly.

"Thank you, Ms. Michaud, but we're just here for a few questions," Lisbon said, despite the fact that her modest BLT lunch seemed like a long time ago.

"I insist! It's rude to eat in front of others without sharing. And call me Shelia," Shelia said, not unkindly. Lisbon wondered how on earth this polite lady produced such a troubled boy. She smiled.

"Thank you, Shelia," she conceded. The woman opened the door wide to let them in, and the heavenly scent of vanilla wafted out, making Lisbon very glad she'd accepted.

Jane's reaction was very different.

He'd detected his stomach's unease in the car, and it had only grown since the first stop sign. Now the smell of food made his nausea hit him like a train. He turned white as a sheet, feeling a wave of heat roll across his face, while his fingers and toes felt very cold.

"I think I'll wait in the car," he managed to rasp before quickly making his way back to the curb, sucking in fresh air. Shelia and Lisbon looked at each other, and the mother was puzzled to see wicked glee in the agent's eyes.

"I'm sorry about him… he insisted he was fine. Looks like he was wrong. Again, I'm sorry… We'll have to talk later. I've got to get him back," she said with genuine sincerity. Shelia nodded.

"Of course. Friends and family first," she agreed. "Wish him well for me."

"I will. Thank you," Lisbon said, and approached her ill comrade. She looked him over, his fists clenched, neck tense, lips red, and face white. He was obviously fighting his stomach with all he had.

"Well, well, well," Lisbon said cheerfully.

**We all love Jane whump. It gets better, you wait!**


	2. Team Effort

**Chapter 2!**

**Thank you all for the reviews- I don't usually get this much success with my Mentalist fics, and I was delighted to see the feedback. Without further ado, enjoy!**

"Well, well, well," Lisbon said cheerfully. He didn't look at her, just stared at the ground, concentrating on stabilizing his stomach. "Goodness, Jane, you don't look very well. Want me to drive you back?"

He nodded mutely, and she held open the door for him, waited for him to climb stiffly in, and shut it behind him. She'd drove barely halfway to the office and was in a small stretch of countryside before they got back in town, when-

"Pull over," Jane rasped urgently, gripping the handle of the door. She glanced at him, and did as he said, jolting to a stop in the dusty shoulder. She hadn't even gotten it in park when he was out like a shot, stumbling behind a tree and bracing himself against it while his stomach rejected its contents violently. Despite her victory, she felt stirrings of pity.

Rigsby had caught a stomach bug once, and when she and Jane had talked about it, Jane had confessed with a shudder that he absolutely hated vomiting. He said he'd rather have anything, even shingles or mono, than to have a stomach bug. His words reverberated in Lisbon's head, and she sighed.

"Here," Jane heard when he'd finished and was leaning weakly on the tree, eyes closed. He lifted his lids and saw Lisbon holding out a bottle of water and a few napkins she'd dampened with the cold water. Gratefully taking them, he rinsed his mouth once before spitting delicately, and put the cold towel on his face. She pulled his arm over her shoulders and helped him back to the car, putting him in the seat and buckling him up like a child.

He could only lie back in the chair and wonder who the bastard was that had given him this sickness.

Lisbon surveyed him, sweating in his 3-piece suit, and took off his shoes, jacket, and vest. She hesitated, then unbuttoned his shirt, trying not to notice that his skin was lightly tanned and firm with slight muscle definition beneath her fingers. Nope, she didn't notice it. No way. It worried her that he didn't gloat or tease her or make her blush like he usually would, just closed his eyes and held the cloth to his forehead.

She jogged over to the drivers' side and jumped in, starting the car and gently pulling away from the curb. Thanks to her extremely cautious driving and his willpower, they didn't have to pull over again.

Lisbon wasn't really sure where to take him. Not his hotel room- he was awful weak, and needed someone to take care of him. And needed somewhere that he could sleep restfully, which he wouldn't get with the horror that crouched within his house. She sighed. There was only one solution, really. She put on her blinker and changed her route, making for her apartment, steering with one hand and dialing with the other.

"Boss?" Van Pelt answered.

"Listen, I need a favor. Jane is sick." "No, he's going to be fine, it's just a bug. Probably neglected to wash his teacup or something." "Yeah. Yep, just like Rigsby. Denied it till he… well, you know." "Right, I agree, he's not going to be alone like this. Which is why I called. I need someone to go over to his place and pick up some clothes and stuff for him." "Yeah, that's right. Just… right, the one at the end of the hall upstairs, don't go in there. It's his private, uh, study. And it would distress him to know someone was in there." "Thanks, Van Pelt. Bye."

She hung up, having solved that problem. She turned and parked at her apartment, and helped Jane inside. His limbs suddenly regained their strength, and he rushed for the bathroom, not having to ask where it was. Sighing, she went to the kitchen to get some water, ice and medicine.

When she came to the bathroom, he was still heaving, clutching the toilet bowl like it was the only thing anchoring him to the planet. She gently rubbed his back until he was done, and then flushed for him. Deciding he probably couldn't keep it down anyways, she put the medicine up on the sink. She arranged a few towels on the side of the tub and guided him around until he leaned back against them, the plush cloth making it more comfortable.

"Try to drink this. You need to stay hydrated," she said, crouched beside him. He took the glass of water in shaking hands and sipped at it dutifully. "Wow. I think that's the first time you've ever actually obeyed me without twisting it or screwing it up," she joked. He managed to crack a smile, and her heart clenched at the sight of this trembling, sweating, weak man who was usually so robust and vivacious.

"You don't have to do this, you know," he said in a low voice. His voice wasn't quite raspy, but it sounded strained. He didn't have to say what 'this' was.

"Yes I do. If you were home alone, you would never get better. I'm here to help." She paused, then added, "It's what friends are for."

It was apparent that she was very worried if she was admitting that they had a relationship that wasn't just strictly work involved.

"Thank you," he murmured, slumping against the tub. She put a washcloth in the bowl of ice water she'd brought, wrung it out, and wiped his face and neck with it. He hummed with satisfaction at the cool against his feverish skin. Lisbon jumped slightly at the noise when her cell rang, and she hastened to answer it.

"Boss? I'm here," said Van Pelt. "I knocked but nobody answered."

"Oh! I'm sorry, Van Pelt, I'm in the bathroom with Jane, I must not have heard. Be right there," Lisbon said, snapping her phone shut. She patted Jane's face one last time.

"Van Pelt is here. I'll be right back- you okay?" she asked. He nodded, and she jumped to her feet and hurried to the door.

"Really sorry," the senior agent said again. Van Pelt smiled.

"It's okay. Really. Here's his stuff- I got him two sets of pajamas, regular clothes, some shower stuff, and his toothbrush- I wasn't sure how long he'd be here. I also grabbed these on the way," she said, handing her a small drawstring bag along with a shopping bag. "Saltines and ginger snaps- Cho told me to get this kind, because they've got real ginger and it helps settle the stomach. And a couple of other things we thought would help."

"Thank you so much," Lisbon said with feeling. She didn't keep a whole lot of food around the house, and what there was probably wouldn't appeal to a queasy stomach- she was a big fan of meat and dairy.

"No problem. Do you need anything else? I can help, if you need," she said, looking truly worried. Lisbon remembered that, when Grace had joined the team, she and Jane had immediately begun a feud. Now, here she was, worried about him. As much as Lisbon called Jane insufferable, he was actually very good at making friends and could be incredibly loyal.

"No, you've already done plenty. I've got it from here. Thanks, though," her boss said. "Keep working on the case- Cho is in charge. Keep me updated on what's going on at the office."

"Will do, Boss. If you need anything else, then call me." The redhead agent left, and Lisbon returned to the bathroom to find Jane lightly dozing against the tub. She decided that he could rest now, and she would get him to change later, and went to put away the groceries. It looked like the whole team had pitched in, sending not just saltines and ginger snaps, but Jane's favorite kinds of tea, soup that Rigsby often bragged was the 'best ever', Vic's vapo-rub, vitamins, and some defense drops for her. She smiled at them, and popped one in her mouth. Citrus flavor, her favorite.

She always got a flu shot, come fall, and it didn't surprise her that Jane didn't. He hated doctors. Even spending five minutes with one was too much for him. And, though he hadn't said it, she knew he didn't like needles much, either.

_It was a locked room_, she remembered hearing him say. If she'd been in his shoes, she probably would hate doctors and needles too. She heard stirring in the bathroom and hurried in, discarding her blazer and the gear on her belt on the way, chucking them on the couch without looking.

He wasn't leaned over the toilet again, thank goodness, though if he kept to the pattern, then it wouldn't be long before he was again. He'd just been filling his water glass with the bathtub spout, because it was closer and he didn't have to stand to get to it. He noticed her in the doorway and smiled blearily up at her.

"It's the good witch Glinda, come to save me," he declared hoarsely. She rolled her eyes, hoping he was just making a joke and wasn't delirious.

"You should be glad I don't actually have magic powers," she said, and opened the drawstring bag, pulling out a pair of comfortable looking gray cotton sweatpants and a royal blue tank top and looked at him, sprawled against the side of the tub, barely able to lift a water glass… let alone dress himself.

Therein lay the problem.

Seeing no other option, she kneeled beside him and took the water from him, setting it on the sink. She helped him pull his arms through the sleeves and extract himself from his button-up shirt.

When she reached around him to take the shirt, there was a moment when his mouth was right beside her ear. He chose this moment to whisper in a low, sing-song voice, "Patrick and Teresa, up in a tree."

He didn't get to finish as she grabbed the shirt and jumped back, away from his hot breath in her ear that gave her goosebumps.

**The next chapter will have a bit more J/L. Reviews increase my motivation for posting! I've already finished writing the entire thing, so the only thing left to get me to post is feedback- I like to see reviews so I can tell people are reading, otherwise, it seems like a waste of time for me to bother with this, if nobody is reading it. A review can be a critique, or a guess at what's next, or just saying you're keeping up and are here with us- it doesn't take much.**


	3. Feed a Cold, Starve a Fever

**I got so many reviews (YAY) that I couldn't help but post again quickly. Plus, I have schoolwork out the ears to do, and anything that I could do other than that is great.**

**Klcarr892: I'm sorry I didn't realize that! I don't know how that slipped my mind… come to think of it, I've made the same mistake in other stories I've written before :/ and nobody has mentioned it to me. Thank you for the reminder!**

**Sleepyhead13: That's a good idea… I've considered it, but haven't taken any steps toward writing a sequel yet. I'm usually not a huge fan of sequels (they're never as good as the first) but I don't have anything else to write right now, so I might do that.**

**Bunnybunbun1: Don't worry, this story won't have any bedroom scenes. There will be J/L a bit, but nothing really racy. I tend to veer more toward light romance and slight hints toward more, but that's mostly where I draw the line. The rating might go up to 'T' eventually, but for very minor things. It'll stay PG-13. I can't say much more, because I don't want to give anything away! ;D**

**That's enough author comments- the story is what we're all here for! Enjoy!**

When she reached around him to take the shirt, there was a moment when his mouth was right beside her ear. He chose this moment to whisper in a low, sing-song voice, "Patrick and Teresa, up in a tree."

He didn't get to finish as she grabbed the shirt and jumped back, away from his hot breath in her ear that gave her goosebumps.

"Jane, don't," she warned in a very serious tone. He just grinned at her, and she helped him put on the tank top, immediately noticing how it made his blue eyes pop. Then she helped him remove his pants, which was much more awkward. He wore boxers rather than briefs, thank goodness, and rather than go through the intimacy and discomfort of unbuttoning and unzipping his pants, she just gave them a few solid tugs until they came off. He had to kind of push himself half off the floor to get the cotton pants fully on, but finally he was completely dressed.

The tank top wasn't saggy and gross looking. It fit perfectly, not overly snug but not loose, either. It was so… Jane. He probably got the damn thing tailored, he was so pompous. It was odd seeing Jane in cozy pajamas. Lisbon wasn't sure how she felt about them- ready to laugh at him, or ready to snuggle up in her pajamas as well.

She didn't have a chance to decide, as he let out a long moan and pulled himself back up to the toilet.

Over four hours later (and about eight episodes later) he seemed to have stopped, something Lisbon was very glad about. It was taxing, keeping the cloth cold, keeping him comfortable and hydrated, keeping flushing, and answering calls about the case.

The last two episodes had been mostly dry heaving and clear bile, which was worse. Even with her short nails, she'd put little half-moons in her palms from watching his body spasm and struggle to bring up food from a stomach that had nothing more to give.

Jane had napped between episodes, closing his eyes in whatever position he was in, whether it was against the sink counter or the bathtub or the toilet. Lisbon shifted him back against the towels, worried about him getting stiff or sore. A few times, she'd gotten him to get up and walk around the house on shaking legs.

When he'd asked her why, she confessed that she had a vivid memory of her mother making her walk when she had a stomach bug, because it helped stretch the muscles and loosen you up from tensing every time you threw up. Plus, lying on the bathroom floor, wallowing in your misery didn't make anything better.

"She was a smart woman. It does actually help," Jane had said with a nod.

So, finally, Jane broke the pattern and went over half an hour without throwing up. She moved him to the guest bedroom, helping him take slow, dizzy steps down the hall. And for safety's sake, she'd armed him with a small plastic trash bin beside the bed.

"I'm kind of hungry," he muttered, snuggling under the sheets she'd put on when she'd had a spare moment.

"You said that twice already. If you go another half an hour without a problem, then we'll start you on some ibuprofen and some gentle food. In the meantime, keep drinking water."

"Fine," he grumbled, taking a swig and rolling on his side to sleep. Knowing he'd probably (hopefully) rest peacefully until his half hour was up, she quickly cleaned the bathroom, picking up the towels, wiping everything down with disinfectant, and even lighting a pine-scented candle to help freshen the air.

She went in to check on him, and gave him some ginger snaps to munch on. Though they were hard to break, once he started eating them, he realized if you broke off a chunk and let it set on your tongue, it practically melted and released a strong, pleasing flavor. He finished half the sleeve of cookies, so she gave him the soup and some crackers too.

Lisbon watched him for a moment and decided he would be fine if she took a quick shower. She retreated back to the bathroom and quickly showered. When she got out and wrapped up in a clean towel, however, she realized a problem. She wasn't used to having guests over, and after she showered, she just walked down the hall in a towel and got dressed in her room.

To get to her room, she would have to walk past the guest room, right through Jane's line of sight.

_He's probably sleeping, or involved with the ginger snaps_, she tried to tell herself. She didn't buy it, but there was nothing else she could do. Steeling herself, she tiptoed slowly down the hall.

A loud catcall whistle resounded from in the guest bedroom. She was so shocked, she froze, standing just outside the doorway, clutching her towel around herself.

"Tereeza, wow. Beneath all those business slacks, who'da thunk you'd have such fine legs?" Jane said, slurring her name slightly.

She remained frozen. She'd expected Jane to do something stupid, but this…?

"And look at that blush. You're a lucky lady, Pepper, not many people can blush _everywhere_ like that," he said suggestively. She finally snapped out of it, and checked quickly to make sure nothing was exposed. Then she turned her gaze on him.

"Jane. You're sick and at my mercy. Don't push it," she warned.

"Fine. Go get dressed," he said, waving a hand at her. She was back in her room when she heard him call, "But only because I want something to take off you!" In a moment, she was in her pajamas and back in his room.

"_What_ did you just say?" she said in a deadly quiet voice.

"What?" he asked, looking confused. She hesitated, not sure if she'd heard him wrong. Then his expression changed.

"Ha, gotcha," he said, pointing at her and looking like he'd just won a prize. "I said I want you to have clothes on, because the proper procedure involves me taking your clothes off."

"Proper… what?" she raged.

"Though this bed is a little small… You're a little bitty mouse, Pepper, you'll fit," he said, recycling the nickname he'd used once when they visited the fair.

"Jane, just because you're sick doesn't mean I won't hurt you," she threatened. He opened his eyes wide and let his jaw drop in sarcastic surprise.

"You'd hurt me?" he fake-gasped, a theatrical hand on his chest. "You aren't the good witch after all!"

Before she could react, he grabbed the glass of water beside him that she'd refilled just minutes before, and with a flick of his wrist, tossed the water at her. It splashed in her face and all down her front.

"You just… I can't believe… Jane!" she spluttered furiously.

"Melt, you wicked witch!" he said with childlike triumph.

"Patrick Jane, I'm going to _kill_ you," she snarled, storming toward the bed. He laughed and laughed, kicking his feet a little under the blankets. But rather than put her hands around her throat, she put one on his forehead.

Beneath her hand, his fever raged. She didn't know a whole lot about medicine, but she knew a fever came from his immune system, not the actual bacteria causing his flu. And feeding him had given him more energy, and his body put the energy into his immune system, which made his fever come back up. And she'd tucked him under blankets and had neglected the cool cloth.

So now she had a delirious ex-psychic-con-man coworker mindreader man in her house. She wasn't sure if that was better or worse than the vomiting.

**I couldn't resist! Just to warn you, the actual sick part will only continue for one more chapter, probably, then I've got some revelations, cute scenes, and J/L. Stay tuned!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Mentalist. All rights to CBS.**


	4. Delirium

**This is a bit shorter than the others, but I'm trying to stay in keeping with the built-in stopping points I made. Apologies- next chapter will be longer.**

**I apologize for any incongruencies with the actual show, about Angela and Charlotte (Angela is Jane's deceased wife, Charlotte is his deceased daughter). It's hard to stay on track with them, as mentions of them are vague and few in number.**

**Anyways, here you are. Have fun!**

So now she had a delirious ex-psychic-con-man coworker mindreader man in her house. She wasn't sure if that was better or worse than the vomiting.

He shifted restlessly under her hand. "You're not my mom. You aren't allowed to do that," he complained, childlike again. Lisbon decided the vomiting was better.

"You behave," she scolded him.

He flicked her nose, making her flinch. "No, _you_ behave."

He jumped violently, suddenly, looking around and scooting back against the headboard.

"What the… where am I?" he asked loudly. He looked at Lisbon, eyes seeming to focus. "Angela, I know you're not good at handling this 'sick' thing… look, take Charlotte and spend the day with Danny, he never gets to see you anymore."

Lisbon had no idea how to react to this. He reached out and stroked her cheek with burning fingers.

"Angel, sweetheart, you still with us? I love what you've done to your hair- all short with those choppy bangs, looks cute and tough." Lisbon held her breath as he ran his hand through her dark locks.

"Jane… I think I should get you to the hospital," she choked out.

"The hospital? Why? You know this kind of thing only gets me down for a day. I'll be right as rain by tomorrow morning. Tell Charlotte to come give me a hug before you go. Tell Charlotte… tell…" his eyes wandered for a moment, then snapped back to Lisbon's face. His hand on her cheek changed from a caress to a firm hold.

"Jane, ow-,"

"Where's Charlotte and Angela? Who are you?" he gasped, squinting at her.

"Jane, stop! It's me, Teresa Lisbon," she said quickly, trying to pull away from his hand that held her chin so roughly. He blinked rapidly.

"Teresa? I don't… yes, Teresa. I'm sorry," he said, releasing her face and dropping his hands in his lap.

"It's okay," she whispered, not sure what else to say.

"I didn't mean to… it was Red John… Angela, can you grab me my phone? I need to reschedule the sessions I missed today," he mumbled, slipping back into delirium.

"Jane, I'm not Angela. I'm Teresa Lisbon. You're sick," she said, trying to bring back the clever, in-touch with reality consultant.

"Sick? That's a stretch, all I did was make a few racy suggestions," he pouted, now blinking like an owl. He became transfixed with the shadows his hands cast on the blankets in the light of the bedside lamp.

"We're going for a walk, Jane. Up you go," she said, grabbing his hands and breaking his focus. He jumped slightly, then followed her willingly enough out of the room, slinging one arm around her shoulders so she could help him balance.

To the kitchen the odd pair went. The senior agent left him balancing against the counter while she grabbed a stool and put it against the window, then guided him over to sit, so the cool glass was against his back. He leaned back, enjoying the sensation of cold. She turned to get an ice pack from the freezer and wrap it in a dishcloth.

When she turned back around, he had taken a napkin from the counter and was folding it carefully across his knee, and in moments, he had a droopy little napkin-crane. He flew it around and make squawking noises. She regarded him for a moment, bemused, then shook her head and stepped forward to put the ice pack on his forehead. He flinched away- it was very cold.

"Attack, my pet!" he cried, tossing the napkin crane at her. It plummeted almost immediately.

"Shoddy work," Lisbon commented.

"You're shoddy work. And so's your mum," he shouted triumphantly.

"Leave my mum out of this," she said, defensively but with a laugh in her voice.

"Saint Teresa, standing for all who are shoddy, praise her!"

"Shut up, you," she said, smacking him lightly in the arm. He nearly fell off the stool in his faux-swoon.

"If you weren't a lady, I would challenge you to defend my honor," he grumbled. "I'm sure your witchy prowess would overwhelm me, anyways."

"Yes, don't push me, or I'll go all black magic on you," she said with exasperation.

"Pepper!" he called suddenly, voice urgent and frightened.

"I'm here, Jane, I'm here! What's wrong?"

"I'm hungry," he said petulantly. It was all she could do to keep from smacking her forehead.

"I'm not feeding you anymore. That's how you got in this mess in the first place."

"First place gold medal, that's me." He reached out and touched her cross suddenly. She stayed very still as his long digits traced the gold metal. The feel of his burning skin on her collarbones made her shudder.

"Pretty," he muttered. "Pretty things for pretty girls." He turned his wide, boyish eyes to her face and let his hand drop back to his side. "Gold on her neck, and emerald jewels in her eyes. Tough princess."

"Jane-,"

He sneezed suddenly and violently with no warning. Lisbon jumped back, escaping his range. The stool teetered, then tipped over, sending him to the floor. He lay there for a moment, and Lisbon dove to his side.

"Jane, you okay? Jane?"

She realized his shaking was actually laughter as it erupted out of him. He rolled onto his back, still laughing raucously.

"Pepper," he said.

"What?"

"I fell." He roared with laughter again. She stood, sighing with exasperation-

-And let out a yelp as she crashed to the floor beside him when he grabbed her ankle and gave it a tug.  
>"Jane!" she bellowed, pushing her hair out of her eyes and glaring at the man.<p>

"Angel. Guess what. I just," he paused for the effect, "swept you off your feet!" he exclaimed.

"Great. Thanks." She sat up, rubbing her banged elbow.

"I pulled that on Charlotte yesterday. Don't worry, Angela, it was on the plush sitting room carpet. You should've seen her giggle. You should dig out your camera sometime. We can make some home videos- you know how Lotte is so photogenic. Just like her parents," he said warmly, eyes glazing again.

"Jane. I'm Lisbon," she said firmly. He ignored her and continued.

"You know, I still have our wedding photo in my wallet. I have to print a new one every few months because it gets beat up, and I need to be able to see your face. Beautiful," he murmured. "I love how Lotte looks- so beautiful. The perfect combination of me and you, it amazes me every day."

"Please, Jane. Snap out of it. You're scaring me," she said. Her tone was firm, but she couldn't keep it from trembling a little bit.

"We've got enough for that Disney trip we've been promising her, more than enough now. The two clients I just picked up are practically gold mines. If they weren't foolish enough to fall for this whole 'psychic' thing in the first place, I would feel bad about taking their money," he laughed, reaching out to put a hand on Lisbon's knee.

"Where is Charlotte, sweetie? Upstairs?" he asked.

"Angel? Where is she?" he asked.

"Where is our baby?" he asked.


	5. Aftermath

**It was asked (by AngryLittlePrincess) if the account 'Redfeatherz' without a '66' at the end was mine as well. Yes, it is- I went on hiatus from FF for a long time, and when I returned, I reread some of my old writing and wasn't impressed. I lost the password as well, and rather than recover it and continue, I started fresh, not wanting anything to do with those old stories. **

**I don't like to advertise my other stories in chapters, but I do also have a Jane sick WHUMP under 'Redfeatherz' if anyone craves more. (And, while I'm doing this advertising thing, I have another Mentalist story entitled 'Carnie Love' that's about how Angela and Jane first met.) But, yes, Redfeatherz is me as well. Just a younger, less literate me.**

**Let the story continue! What a sad pair, these two… **

"Where is Charlotte, sweetie? Upstairs?" he asked.

"Angel? Where is she?" he asked.

"Where is our baby?" he asked.

Lisbon had enough. "Yeah, sure, Jane," she grumbled, standing and grabbing his hands and giving them a hard tug. He understood and climbed to his feet, leaning heavily on Lisbon. She helped him get back to the bathroom and deposited him in the tub, folding a towel for a pillow, propping him in a sitting position against the far end.

"Thanks, Angel. You going to join me?" the fevered psychic asked.

"No, I've, um, already showered," she said, reaching down by his feet to turn the water on. She adjusted it until it wasn't quite warm, but not cold either, grabbed the shower head, and flipped it onto 'shower'. She gained a somewhat gleeful satisfaction from spraying him with water, watching him splutter a bit. Revenge for her still-damp shirt.

Then she pointed it away from his face and continued to spray him, down his arms and legs, over his torso. He tipped his head back and made a satisfied humming sound.

"That's nice, Pepper." She took it as an encouraging note that he wasn't calling her Angela anymore, even though he still wasn't saying 'Lisbon' like normal. After giving him a thorough rinsing-down, she peeled off his tank top and pants, leaving him again in his boxers, and depressed the plug. She flipped it back to the faucet and let the tub fill up as high as she dared with the cool water. When she shut off the water and looked back up at him, he was looking less pale. And very asleep.

Her shoulders sagged with relief and fatigue, and she let out a slow breath.

The senior agent made sure he wasn't going to slide under the water and drown, then dashed to the linen closet to retrieve a sleeping bag. She wasn't going to risk being two rooms down the hall while he slept in the bathtub. So she dried off the floor, dressed down to just a sports bra and shorts, and sank into the sleeping bag, realizing how exhausted she was.

"Night, Jane," she whispered, her words falling on sleeping ears, and then drifted off.

_-THE NEXT MORNING-_

Patrick Jane was confused before he even opened his eyes. He could feel that he'd slept sitting in a technically upright position. The small of his back ached. It felt like he was in a giant bowl… or a bathtub. Which also explained why he could feel cool water all around himself.

Bracing himself, he opened his eyes. Bathtub. Water. Right.

Not his bathtub.

A quick scan of the room confirmed his surroundings. So he wasn't surprised to see Lisbon curled up in a sleeping bag, the thing knotted around her, on the floor beside the tub. It rushed back to him.

He'd been sick (she was right, damn,) and had to leave work. And she hadn't trusted him to go to his empty apartment and take care of himself properly, so she'd brought him back to her apartment. He remembered being sick, very sick (and Lisbon being there for him the whole time) and it finally ending. Climbing into bed with her help. From there, it became decidedly foggy. There were ginger cookies. And soup.

He had no recollection of how he'd come to be in the bathtub. Or how he'd lost his clothes. The back of his neck burned as his quick mind flashed through the possibilities of what had happened, but he dismissed each as rapidly as they occurred to him. He'd just been sick and sleepy. It wasn't like he'd had a mental breakdown or anything.

Quietly as he could, he unplugged the drain and stood, using his towel-pillow to dry off best as he could. Spotting a drawstring bag sitting beside the sink, he reached over his boss's sleeping form and grabbed it, glad to find some of his clothes in it.

He regarded Lisbon for a moment. She was out like a light. He knew from the few times she'd slept around him (at a stake-out or when she'd taken a rare nap on the couch) that she was very noise-sensitive, but wouldn't wake if you shook her or poked her. So, silent as possible, he slipped his arms in her sleeping bag and under her, lifting her out and carrying her to her room. He tucked her in, feeling suddenly protective of the small, fierce woman. He was conscious of her sleepwear, and tried not to look and to conserve her modesty as much as possible.

Having secured her in bed, he closed her door and went back to the bathroom for a much-needed shower. He was happy to find his own soaps in his bag, rather than having to use Lisbon's woman-shampoo. He was a vain man, and had special shampoos that he'd carefully selected for the perfect scents and textures. Lisbon's wasn't especially girly-scented, but it certainly wasn't masculine, or what he had spoiled himself with.

While he changed into the khakis and button-up he'd found in the bag, he assessed the situation. He felt much better, though his throat and stomach muscles ached from the ordeal he'd put them through. And he was ravenous. So- breakfast.

He figured it was the least he could to, after all she'd done for him. And besides, he was fairly certain that the poor woman hadn't had a real, homemade, hearty breakfast since she'd spent thanksgiving at her aunt's house last year. He was fairly sure he could make something good, even with the meager supplies in her kitchen. Cooking was one of his many talents.

A quick search of the kitchen revealed no waffle iron, no pancake mix, no ham steak, no maple syrup, no grapefruit, and no grill. He made due with a frying pan, and covered the bar with what he did manage to find. It wasn't what he'd hoped- a quarter loaf of bread, half a dozen eggs, and some frozen berries.

He peeked in the bedroom at Lisbon again. Still sleeping like a rock. Judging by her bedraggled appearance and the times of the missed calls on her phone, he estimated when she'd gone to sleep, and calculated that she would sleep for another hour and a half or so. Plenty of time for everything. He lifted her keys, found his wallet in his suit, and left silently.

_-LATER-_

Lisbon's eyes snapped open as she slingshotted into consciousness. _Jane. Gotta check on Jane_. But when she sat up and looked around, she found that she wasn't where she was supposed to be. Well, she was, but she wasn't.

She was in her bed, and there was no sign of the ill consultant. She moved to climb out of bed, and froze as she realized what had obviously happened. Jane had woke up before she did, and moved her into her bed. A blush crept up her cheeks as she realized he'd probably carried her. Just wearing a sports bra and shorts. It wasn't like it was extremely revealing, it had more coverage than a swim suit, but still.

Further evidence of this was discovering a shirt folded neatly on her dresser, along with a glass of orange juice.

She stared at it for a moment.

She didn't have orange juice in the house- yesterday was supposed to be grocery day, which she'd obviously not done. Her mind went back to Jane, and a creeping suspicion slipped down her back as she pulled on her shirt and took a swig of the juice. Delicious.

Her theory was confirmed when she opened the door and smelled cinnamon and maple syrup. Following her nose led her to the kitchen and a much more composed Jane than yesterday's soggy man.

"Good morning, Teresa," he said, all white teeth and chipper voice.

"Morning," she said cautiously, looking around. Her kitchen was painted a dark blue, but with Jane in it, the whole area seemed so much brighter.

"If you'll wait just a minute, I'll have your breakfast ready," he said. "There's toast and bacon ready now, though, if you want to start on that." He brandished a spatula to the plates on the counter. Lisbon swallowed back drool at the sight of it, threw caution to the winds, and sat down on a stool. She dug into the bacon- it was extra crispy, just the way she liked it.

"Oh, wow," she mumbled, closing her eyes and savoring it. "This is fantastic. Thanks."

"Ha! I should be the one thanking you. I'm very sorry… about yesterday, and everything." She looked him over carefully, not sure if he remembered the delirious part.

Of course he did. It was Jane. He never forgot anything.

"I would say you owe me one, but it looks like you're already on top of it," she said decidedly, helping herself to another piece of bacon. Something on the stove sizzled, and he turned to take a piece of toast, taking two large bites in quick succession.

"I still owe you," he commented stubbornly.

"Not for yesterday. But for stealing my car and carrying me around and violating my kitchen, yes," she said, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes, I borrowed your car," he admitted.

"Again."

"Yes, yes. But I got you groceries, and breakfast. You had hardly anything that could be used to make a proper breakfast."

"That's because yesterday I was supposed to buy groceries, but didn't. Which is your fault," she pointed out wryly. He turned back from the stove, looking her in the eyes with a solemn, sincere expression.

"I truly am sorry, Teresa."

She smiled forgivingly. "It's okay. Really." There was a pause while he mixed something back-to so she couldn't see. "You're calling me Teresa again."

"We aren't at work. It's allowed," he declared. Then he turned to her and slid a plate across the counter. It stopped perfectly in front of her, and she looked down at the small stack of French toast. It was topped with strawberries in sugary juice and whipped cream. There were hash browns beside it, and Jane set a small brown jug beside it. She looked at it suspiciously. It had a sticker that said 'get real, get Maine!'

"Strawberries, your favorite, whipped cream because I know you love milk and everything dairy, hash browns because you love those, and maple syrup," he said. "Anything I missed?"

"Did you pick the strawberries yourself?" she teased, laughing.

"No, but I picked the oranges myself, and made the juice myself." She blinked, surprised, but then wondering why that should surprise her. It was Jane- she should expect that.

"Wow. Thank you," she said, excited about her favorite breakfast (he'd been right with everything) but also uncomfortable accepting gifts and presents and such. She always was like that. So she helped herself to the syrup, focusing on her food.

"You're very welcome." He pulled a stool up to his side of the counter and sat down, digging into his own French toast (which had a liberal amount of chocolate chips in it). "So… 'again'?"

"What?" she asked after a moment, swallowing the massive bite she'd taken.

"You said I was calling you Teresa 'again'," he mused, taking a swig of his orange juice.

"I don't mind that much, I guess. It's better than Pepper, anyways," she grumbled. He coughed on the mouthful of juice, almost choking, shoulders shaking.

"Excuse me, _what?_"

**Doesn't knowww, doesn't know! Poor Jane is in for a rough surprise. And (spoiler alert!) so is Lisbon! I couldn't resist the shout out to Maine- I'm from New England myself ;D and while we were talking about California oranges, I felt it necessary to touch my edge of town as well. My great-grandfather used to tap trees and make syrup. I can't eat store-brand syrup anymore, because it's nothing in contrast to the real fresh stuff.**

**So yeah. Review and I'll post, not that I've had to hassle you guys to review! :D **


	6. Sweet Tastes

**Warning- there is some Jane/Lisbon in this chapter. Nothing graphic, don't worry.**

**And, one more warning- there's only one chapter left! The ending seems so unexpected- I thought I'd have two or three left, but there's just one, unless you'd rather have two very short ones. =(**

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Mentalist. Rights go to CBS. **

"I don't mind that much, I guess. It's better than Pepper, anyways," she grumbled. He coughed on the mouthful of juice, almost choking, shoulders shaking.

"Excuse me, what?" he rasped as soon as he was able to speak, wincing slightly and rubbing his throat. A grin spread across her face, and he eyed her warily, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

"Oh my God. You don't know," she laughed, face full of amused surprise.

"Spare me, and just say what you're talking about," he said, feigning exasperation and disinterest.

"No way. I'm going to hold this over your head for so long. You're going to have to behave so much now. This is great."

"Lisbon, please, let's be adults here."

"Look who's talking, kiddo."

He reached out and grabbed her plate, pulling away from her. "I'll trade," he teased, holding it high out of her reach as she all but stood on top of the stool to get it.

"No, give me my breakfast! Ja-ane!" she moaned, reaching.

"Ah-ah, you tell me what happened, and then you can have your breakfast. My, it smells good though… if you don't tell me, I might eat it," he said, plucking a strawberry (her favorite part) from the top and biting into it, making noises of appreciation. "Delicious."

If it was anyone but Jane, she knew she could be more stubborn and outlast them. But it was him- if she tried to outlast him, she would not only have to watch him eat her breakfast, but he would get the information eventually anyways.

Damn him.

"You were all delirious, and you said some things that didn't make sense, that's all," she finally said. "Now gimmie."

"The full story," he insisted.

"Yes, I'll give you the full story. Now give me that back."

"That wasn't so hard, was it?" He put the plate back down in front of her, and she continued to eat the strawberry-soaked toast with relish, talking between and around bites, fastidiously keeping her expression neutral.

"Well, first you made some very inappropriate comments about me, to me."

"Inappropriate? Can you be any more vague?" Jane prodded, unease creeping.

"A couple of lewd comments about my appearance. Over-the-top flirting, I suppose," she said nonchalantly, forcing herself to seem cool and detached from what had happened. She watched his face out of the corner of her eye, seeing his grin fade to something like horror. "You tried to get me to climb in bed with you, and I threatened you. You said something about me being a bad witch, and threw water on me and told me to melt.

"That was when I realized you were acting weird. Well, weirder than normal," she amended. "Then you seemed to forget where you were. I tried to cool you down with the window… you sneezed and fell, and then pulled me down too. So I threw you in the bathtub. You kept calling me Pepper. And that's about it," she finished quickly. He stared at her face for a moment silently.

"There was more than that. I…" a look of realization crossed his face, followed quickly by something drawn and sad, "…remember it." He turned and leaned against the counter so he was back-to.

"Jane-," she started, not sure what to say.

"Don't. We're just going to put that behind us. I'm sorry I put you through that," he said in a low voice. His hands gripped the edge of the counter on either side of him. She could see the tension in his arms, and sighed, putting down her fork. An idea came to mind.

"Jane, turn around," she said in the most business-like voice she could muster. He turned-

-And was met by a finger covered with whipped cream, smearing it all over his nose and left cheek. He blinked, such an innocently surprised expression on his face that Lisbon doubled over laughing.

"Yum, thanks," he said, wiping off a blob and eating it. He grabbed the can and sprayed some in her face.

"Yuck! You got it in my hair!" she wailed, trying to remove the fluffy clouds of it without mixing it in.

"Sorry, sorry. Here, let me," he said, knocking her hands out of the way and carefully pulling it out.

"Thanks. Um, can I ask… why 'Pepper'? I know that carnie said it, but I still don't get it," she admitted.

"Oh, that! I don't know, it just seems to fit you. Your dark hair, and you're little, but still pack a punch," he said, remembering when she'd socked him for tricking her into believing she was dying. He could almost still feel the ache in his jaw- it had been weeks till he was able to chew without it popping.

"Pepper," she repeated with a huff. "Sounds like a cheetah girl or something."

"Exactly! It sounds so innocent and harmless."

"You sure you're feeling better? Because that almost sounded like flirting, and the only reason I didn't punch you earlier for that was because you were delirious," she threatened, but not seriously.

"Punching won't be necessary, I'll stop if you ask."

"Good."

"But I do have to agree with my delirious self- you have very nice legs. You should show them off more," he said, locking eyes with her and grinning.

"Jane! What did I just say?"

"You still haven't actually asked," he taunted, keeping eye contact. She stared back boldly for a minute. She was aware that he had walked around the counter and they were very close, and his hair was still damp. He smelled like the shampoo Van Pelt had retrieved from his place, so he'd showered while she was asleep.

His hair half-dry like that seemed even more gold, the dark wet curls contrasting with the blond. The lingering veins around the edges of his eyes made his blue eyes seem absolutely vibrant, and she found herself caught like a bird, and her heart fluttered canary-like against her ribcage.

"You've got that look," he said in a low voice, gentle enough to not break the tension in the air.

"What look?" she managed to ask in a relatively steady voice.

"That, 'he's so attractive when he does that,' look," he explained, eyes glittering. "May I kiss you?"

"No," she said.

They both could hear the lie in it.

He ducked his head and touched his lips to hers.

It wasn't needy or fierce or even active, as kisses went. Just his lips brushing hers, a gentle pressure and warmth for a moment, then it was gone, leaving her embarrassed and confused and wanting more all at the same time. His lips were slightly chapped, and cracked in one spot. She could taste the faintest salty tang of blood when she licked her lips nervously afterwards, along with sticky-sweet maple syrup.

When he pulled back, he kept her loosely in her arms (which was frustrating- she didn't like gentle hugs, she preferred squeezing, tight, laughing hugs to the somber ones) and stared down at her devilishly.

"Jane- you just kissed me," she said stupidly, still reeling He made his endearing fake-surprised open-mouthed look.

"No way!" he said. She rolled her eyes. "Should I apologize?" He was good- he knew she wanted to be in control, and so he was tactfully allowing her to remain in control, while asking her questions she didn't want to answer. Frustrating.

"I… uh, um… no," she stuttered, blushing, fighting a grin and losing.

"Good. I hope it was pleasant. Cause- here it comes again!" he cried, laughing, pulling her close and kissing her again. She laughed against his mouth, and felt his smile against her own. He somehow just _knew_ that she liked this kind of thing to be unserious and fun, which was so contrary to how she liked work and everything else. It made her stomach flutter a bit, wondering what else he knew that she liked.

This time it was a bit rougher, and bit more adventurous, a bit more involved. It lasted much more than a second, like the first one, much more than a minute. The world fell away around them. It felt as though a helium balloon was expanding in her chest, right where her heart was, lifting her up and floating her above the planet, far away from everything else.

'Pleasant' didn't even begin to cover it.

Eventually, it slowed and receded, like the tide pulling back and leaving her clean and fresh. And, against her wishes (and Jane's) it ended. He pulled her close against him, her head tucked under his chin. She turned her head so her ear was pressed to his heart and listened to it beat loud and fast and strong.

"Thank you," he said, breaking the silence.

"For what?"

"Not punching me or shoving me away. I apologize, but in the aftermath of being ill, and you taking such good care of me, I suppose my emotions got away from me. Now you've seen me strong and weak, so you might as well see me like this, too.

"I love you," he said earnestly, "And have for quite a while now."

**LE GASP!**

**Don't worry- kissing is as far as things go. Now… how will Lisbon react! And don't jump on me, I know Jane wouldn't usually just come right out and say stuff. Explanations and all the 'how's and 'why's come out next chapter. I know that Jane wouldn't just be like 'I wuv u kissy kiss kiss'. He's much more complex than that- and all of that will come next chapter.**

**I'm not sure if I'll post tomorrow or Friday- tomorrow is going to be terrible (3 exams and a quiz) and I'm probably going to have to pull an all-nighter tonight. So be patient with me?**


	7. Love

**Sorry about leaving you hanging like that! I'm having a bit of a what-do-I-want-to-do-with-my-life crisis. Biological engineering is a really exhausting study.**

**Anyways, this is the end. I'd like to thank you all SO MUCH for the overflow of reviews, the critiques and support and comments and all. I appreciate it. I have a few other stories that you can check out if you'd like. I don't think I'll write a sequel for this- my attention has shifted from investigator tales to the fae world.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Mentalist.**

"I love you," he said earnestly, "And have for quite a while now.

"Don't worry- I'll tuck it away again. I've gotten good at that. This won't interfere with work. Please, don't look at me any differently or treat me differently- nothing has changed, except now you're aware of my feelings. I'm sorry. I just had to tell you- I didn't want you to think I was still delirious, or taking advantage of you, or whatever else your paranoid mind could come up with. I need you to know I'm not the heartless con man you see me as. I'm sorry."

She pulled out of his hug (not releasing him, though) and looked at his face intently, her own expression unreadable. He stared at the floor, looking guilty, and sincerely apologetic… and a little sad.

"Jane. Look at me." He did, slowly and slightly nervously. She couldn't help but let out a single amused laugh. He frowned.

"Why, Teresa, I just laid my heart out bare, and you're going to mock me?" His tone was teasing, but there was a serious undercurrent of hurt to it.

"Are you being serious? Psychic, observant, superman Patrick Jane doesn't know?" she gasped. "For the second time today!"

"Know…?" he studied her expression, placing a hand on the side of her neck to tilt her chin up so he could really look at her. "Teresa?"

"What, not Pepper this time?" she teased. Then she kissed him, rather than the way it had been before. Third time was the charm- he'd been holding out on her the first two times. But now… now he understood. He didn't need to be careful or restrain himself. Because she'd told him (not out loud, but in such a way that he could understand and have no doubts about) that the feeling was mutual. It didn't take a genius detective to decipher it.

He backed her up against the wall, slowly, and eliminated most of the space between them. Her hands were in his hair, on his chest, on his back- she made him dizzy, as if she had more than just two hands. He did his best (which was very good indeed) to return the favor.

Things began to get heated, what with wandering hands, and their minds clouded with want and joy and oxygen deprivation. He chose to pull back before the situation got really out of hand.

"How could you not see that?" she murmured, slightly out of breath. He didn't need to answer- they both knew. Patrick Jane was a damaged man, attractive, but nothing you would want to keep around for too long. His type was the kind that looked good from a distance, but when you got closer and closer to him, he became unappealing. Like too much chocolate- he made you hyped up, sugar-rushing, and joyful for a while, but eventually, you became thirsty for something cleaner, like water or milk.

Teresa had worked with him for many years now, and his appeal never wore off. Their personalities seemed to clash sometimes, but in truth, they fit together the way that was portrayed in movies and books, amazing and fantastic but rare indeed. She was spicy- he was sweet. They balanced each other.

"So if this is really going to happen, we're going to do this right," he said firmly when he saw her desire to kiss him again in her eyes. (He was pleasantly surprised to see that the look was one he'd seen before, but had failed to identify. So she'd thought of kissing him before.) She blushed.

"Right. Yes… What are we going to tell the team?" she asked, reality hitting her. He shrugged.

"I'm not going to announce it, but I'm not going to hide it. I'm not technically an agent, so it's not against the rules. If I want to hug you, then I'm going to hug you. I'm not going to sneak around," he said, hugging her as he spoke.

"I'm not a huge fan of PDA," she said uneasily.

"Don't worry- I'm not going to jump you at the office," he laughed. "I'll keep it limited to hugging and other minor gestures. I can tell when you're unhappy or uncomfortable, and if you are, I'll take a step back." He was very convincing, and it was so hard to resist that thousand-watt smile and mess of blonde curls.

"Alright, but one screw up…" she warned. He laughed again at her seriousness. They both knew she was soft on him. She'd threatened much of the same thing more times than he could count.

"Deal." He gave her a quick peck on the lips, then retreated back to the counter, grabbing another piece of toast.

"You are a bottomless pit," she commented, watching the bread disappear while finishing the last bites of her breakfast. She was comfortably full- not overstuffed, but not hungry anymore. He'd already eaten at least twice what she had.

"Gotta make up for yesterday," he said around the food in his mouth. He swallowed. "You don't like leftovers, anyways." That was true- she preferred fresh food, though time was her enemy, and she was a work-a-holic.

"Of course." She couldn't hold it back anymore- she just blurted it out. "You aren't over Angela." It wasn't a question.

"No," he said musingly.

"Then what's changed?"

"There were a number of factors keeping me from pursuing any romance. One was guilt. If there was one thing she never, ever, _ever_ tolerated, it was promiscuity, relationship-wise. She was very much the jealous type. The very idea of me being with another woman… it didn't make her angry so much as it made her sad and scared. It wasn't shallow, though. It was… cute," he admitted.

"But I've mourned her for years. And there was something she was more aware of than promiscuity. Happiness. She would've hated me being miserable more than she would've hated me being with another woman.

"Another was concentration. I wanted all of my attention to be on Red John and vengeance. I didn't think I could afford to waste any time or energy… but as you work with me, then it's not the same. And… you've become more precious to me than Red John." That was true- he'd proven that quite a while ago, when he had shot a man who'd worked with Red John, rather than letting him shoot her.

"The last was fear." He fought to keep his voice steady and nonchalant. "As you know… I wear a mask. I'm a jaded old man, Pepper," he said with a smile. "I've been hiding for so long. But my delirious mind didn't know enough to keep myself concealed, so there's not much point in hiding anymore. It's all been blown out in the open.

"Plus, I am getting older. I don't want to spend the rest of my life alone in this seclusion. I've been thinking about my self-imposed isolation, and there came a point where I wondered- when will this end? I'd never thought about what would come after. Now I want a future.

"That's everything… I have no barriers anymore," he said with a finality that awed her.

"It takes a lot to open up like that, Patrick," she said, trying his Christian name out on her tongue. "I… really appreciate it. Thank you. I won't betray your trust."

"No, I don't think you will." He ruffled her hair affectionately. "Go get showered. I'll clean this up." He pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

"Kay." She headed for the bathroom to shower. He watched her go dreamily.

She went around the corner, maintaining composure as she got her stuff to shower (this time remembering to bring clothes in with her), but when she shut the bathroom door, she turned and pressed her back against the door, wrapping her arms around her towel and squeezing tight, feeling like a teen who's crush had just asked her to prom. Silly, excited, distracted, and full to bursting with joy. She shook her head with amazement at the fact that he could do this to her.

They drifted through the apartment around each other, exchanging smiles and light touches (him brushing her hair off her shoulder, her trailing her hand over his shoulders as she walked by) until she was cleaned up and ready to go.

It was about 12:30 by the time they both got in her SUV and went to work. She would've been panicking and stressing, but since he'd been sick, she'd had Van Pelt let the boss know that she and Jane probably weren't coming in on time today. Everything was cleared.

Things went back to usual, mostly. Jane grumbled about her driving, bothered Rigsby, tried to get a rise out of Cho, and reassured Van Pelt that he was doing much better. Lisbon dished out orders, went on some investigations, and tried to keep Jane in line. The only differences were:

Jane kept calling her Pepper, meriting a shocked look from Van Pelt and Rigsby, and a lifted eyebrow from Cho (which was the equivalent of a loud gasp). Lisbon was angry with him for a while about it, but when he pointed out that the joy and amusement in her eyes was giving her away, she let it go, but continued to blush when he used the silly nickname. (Which was his goal in the first place, remembering how she blushed- _all _over.)

And both Lisbon and Jane felt… well, _happy_. Really cheerful. They acted normal, but everyone could feel the uplifted atmosphere. It impacted the whole team. The unit was much like a family, with Lisbon as the mother, and family moods were often dictated by the mood of the mother. If mum ain't happy, ain't nobody happy. But when mother was happy, things were excellent.

A few days later, they solved the case. Jane escaped the lawsuit this time, but only because the man punched him in the nose and they agreed to drop the charges if he did as well.

This all happened on Friday afternoon. The day of the promised date, where they would begin things real and proper, not snogging wildly over French toast. With wine and flowers and fancy clothes. So when Jane picked her up for their first date, he was sporting a slightly blackened eye.

"Your eye matches your suit," she commented, taking in his sharp dress (a black suit and a black bowtie). In truth, his eye wasn't bad. In fact… only Jane could make a black eye look roguish and dashing.

"…Whoa," he gasped, looking thoroughly stunned.

She lifted her chin slightly, enjoying his appreciative roaming gaze, and sashayed past him, her short, sheath emerald dress rippling. He caught her elbow as she walked by, spun her around, dipped her, and planted a firm kiss on her lips.

This one was free of syrup and lingering flu. Rather than fever and gratefulness, it was fresh and sweet, full of cold mint from her and chocolate from him, and giving flesh, and finally discovered love, and a promise of happiness.

Against his lips, she smiled.

**Fin**


End file.
